A Memoir of Schizophrenia

Category Archives: clothes

I miss clothes shopping. There is no money in my budget to do this with. The truth is I own 17 pairs of jeans, 2 pairs of dress pants, 5 blouses, several shirts and several jackets. I don’t need anymore clothes. To think I can wear a different pair of jeans everyday for a week and a half is mind blowing. And I don’t grow out of them. My weight is stable.

People think I’m naturally thin. This is not true. I work at it. If I had my druthers, I would eat cake with butter cream frosting on a daily basis. I love butter cream frosting. I always go for the flowers. If a cake has whipped cream frosting I am disappointed. Cake is an elixir. Cake is a joy. At Safeway Grocery there is four different kinds of cake, single serving of all, in the same container. Whoever thought that up is a genius! And yes, I would eat it all at one sitting.

I also exercise a great deal. I’ve been lifting weights and walking on the treadmill for years. Guy, my ex, is a personal trainer and set me up well with this. Currently, I weight train with Christy for an hour four times per week and walk on the treadmill six times per week for 50 minutes. Believe it or not, I don’t like exercise. I wish I could send my body to the gym and leave my mind at home reading books.

I’ve been thinking about homelessness a great deal, lately. My sister did telephone me. She is homeless. I asked her where she slept, hoping she would say a shelter. She didn’t; she sleeps on the street. Maybe there’s a park nearby. There is a big park by the library where I work. People commune in the grass. People sleep in the grass.

I wonder about little things being difficult. Where do you charge your phone? You’re on FaceBook…where do you use a computer? How do you shower? How do you maintain your clothes? I mean, c’mon, I have 17 pairs of jeans and they’re all laundered.

I have a full refrigerator, a stove/oven combo, and a dishwasher. I don’t use my dishwasher, but I do have one. I also have a microwave I use to heat water often in order to make coffee. I have coffee, by God. No, God has nothing to do with my coffee, but God has given me life; I’m talking spiritually. I say in respect to my sister, “there but for the grace of God go I.” I spend time in the hope of growing my spiritual condition. If I were on the streets, would I do this? Probably not. Where is God in my sister’s life? Maybe that’s not a question for me to ask.

I love easily today. I love my life today. Any problem today is a luxury problem. And have I mentioned?…I have two cats who curl up to me as I write in bed. Heaven.

Change the pants and you change the person. I read something similar to this and agreed with it. When I was in first grade living in New York I wore skirts with tights in the winter. On my way to the bus stop one morning I slipped and tore up the skin on my leg, shredding the tights. Had I been in pants, I would not have bloodied myself. This wasn’t enough for me to stop wearing skirts.

In third grade, I leapt form the top of the monkey bars on the school playground. In flight like a pigeon before it lands on a bread crumb. I had done this before. This time, though, my skirt got stuck on one of the protruding metal bars on my way down throwing me off balance. I landed wrists bent in front of my face in order to prevent myself from breaking my nose. Something happened to my wrist. I knew this as I knew the color of my skirt was mint green. I approached the two teachers who were monitoring the playground. They were talking amongst themselves and being the shy girl that I was, I didn’t interrupt them. I took myself to the nurses office and explained to her that I had broken my fall with my hands and that something felt wrong with my wrist. She said it was probably just a sprain but phoned my mother anyway. Mom came and got me and had the where with all to take me to the doctor’s. The doctor took an x-ray and determined that I had broken the two largest bones in my wrist. Had I been wearing pants, this would have never happened. I took to wearing pants.

My hair was cut in a pixie. With my hair short and my body tall, people mistook me for a boy. I still remained in pants like a male skater in gear, warding off the cold and protected should he fall. No shorts. And certainly, no skirts.

Pants were and are freeing. No need to cross my legs in fear that someone will look up my skirt. Able to do cartwheels and stand on my head. Able to fall and get up from the dirt and simply brush myself off.

My person was definitely change with my change of apparel. I gained confidence despite being called a boy. Years later, I grew my hair long. It’s amazing how life changing that simple gesture was, also. Yay for jeans, coordination, and a pony tail. When feeling feminine I will still wear a skirt. Just no splits or cartwheels.

I think this blog lacks charisma. Sigh. I’m still determined to blog weekly. Thank you for reading. Always, thank you for your support.